Magic Triumphs Read online

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Why isn’t Hugh dead?”

  I raised my hands. “Because he is Hugh. He’s unkillable. Curran broke his back and threw him into a magic fire that melted an entire stone castle, and he’s still alive. He shouldn’t even be able to form coherent thoughts.”

  The name Iron Dogs fit in more ways than one. A dog is hardwired to please a human. When you got a puppy and raised it to adulthood, you shaped the dog. Take a puppy and give him a loving home, and in most cases, he will be a sweet dog. Take the same puppy and chain him in the yard, and it will be a whole different story. My father had taken a stick to his dog and beaten him senseless every time he strayed out of line. Poor Hugh. But he never turned on his master. He never bit the hand that held the stick.

  “Yes, my father imposed his will on him, but that doesn’t absolve him of responsibility for having done horrible shit.”

  “My point precisely,” Barabas said. “There is no way to tell how much of what he did was Roland’s doing and how much was him. Maybe he is a violent psychopath. He could’ve rebelled. He didn’t.”

  “Hugh wouldn’t rebel,” I told him. “He is loyal. The real question is, who are we dealing with now? My father is gone. It’s just Hugh. None of us know who Hugh is. He’s done so much fucked-up crap. I’m not sure I can deal with it. I don’t know if it’s in me. I mean, Christopher, he put you in a cage.”

  “Your father put me in a cage,” he said.

  “But Hugh kept you there,” Barabas said.

  “Have you ever wondered how I survived two months in a cage with no food or water?” he asked. “Why I didn’t go into organ failure? Why I had no sores, despite sitting in my own filth?”

  “Hugh fed you,” I guessed.

  Christopher nodded. “At night. He talked to me.”

  I threw my hands up. “He shouldn’t have kept you in the cage in the first place.”

  “He kept me alive.”

  Barabas sighed.

  Christopher’s expression sharpened, growing somehow more fragile. “The two of you only remember the man in the cage. Before that I was the Legatus of the Golden Legion. I murdered my way to the top. I committed atrocities. And unlike Hugh, I have nobody to blame but myself. I own everything I’ve done. I did it because I wanted power. I must live with it. Hugh lives with his memories. It will be his choice to atone for what he has done, or not. But I’ve forgiven Hugh, because if I don’t forgive him, there is no hope for forgiveness for someone like me.”

  He rose and went upstairs. Barabas went after him, and I let myself out.

  * * *

  • • •

  I WALKED INTO our house and went down to the basement. Yu Fong was still comatose. Adora was nowhere to be found.

  I climbed back up and walked into our kitchen. The light was on, warm and soft. The air smelled of cooked butter and fresh coffee. Curran stood by the stove, toasting bread. A plate of sliced smoked meat sat next to him.

  I unbuckled my sheath, Sarrat still in it, and hung it over a chair.

  It was so comfortable here, in the kitchen. Just me and him. I loved our son, but sometimes it was nice to take a short break from being responsible for a tiny human.

  “Where is Adora?”

  “I sent her home to take a break. Shower, sleep, that type of thing. She’ll be back in the morning.”

  I set the table. We would never be ordinary. We would never have sheltered lives. But we could have this, a quiet moment of simple happiness, sandwiched between danger and desperation. I lived for these moments.

  “I’ve decided to give d’Ambray a chance,” I said.

  “I thought you might.”

  He slid the last slice of bread onto the plate and turned around to me.

  “What gave me away?”

  “You tend to give people second chances. And third. And fourth.”

  “Pot, kettle. Can you work with him?”

  He shrugged. “We need him and his wife. I can always kill him later.”

  His Furriness, the Long-term Planner. “We’ll have to sit down with them eventually and have a conversation. Can you be civil?”

  I pulled a block of cheese out of the fridge and cut it into paper-thin slices.

  “Can you?”

  “I’m always civil.”

  He crossed his arms. The muscles on his forearms stood out. Mmm.

  “Really?” Curran asked.

  “Sometimes I jump on the table and kick people in the face, but I’m always civil about it.”

  He moved behind me. His breath touched my skin. I stopped slicing.

  “Always civil?” he murmured. His fingers eased my hair from my shoulders. His lips grazed the sensitive spot on the back of my neck. I shivered.

  His lips were hot on my skin. I arched my back against him, raised my hand, and slid it into his hair. He hadn’t buzzed it down.

  “We’re childless tonight,” he murmured into my ear. “Nobody in the house except us.”

  “What about Julie?”

  “She’s sleeping over at Derek’s. She thought you might need time.”

  What I needed was a temper transplant, because if she walked through that door right now, I’d yell at her until sunrise.

  “She knew where Hugh was.”

  “Apparently.”

  He kissed me again. His arms slid around my waist, pulling me closer to him, the steel cords of muscle warm against me. Yes . . .

  “We don’t have to be quiet,” he promised, and nipped my neck. Tiny sparks of pleasure burst through me.

  “We don’t?”

  “No.”

  “What makes you think that I wouldn’t be quiet anyway?”

  “Is that a challenge?” His hand stroked my raised arm. Breath caught in my throat. There shouldn’t have been anything erotic about him touching my arm, but my whole body went to attention, tracking the progress of his fingers.

  “Would you like it to be, Your Godliness?”

  He stopped. “Still mad?”

  I turned around and looked at him. Really looked at him.

  “Are you still you?”

  Gray eyes looked back at me, full of dancing golden sparks. “I’ve been eating gods for nearly two years. You’ve been living with me all this time. Eating, sleeping, having sex. You tell me.”

  “I don’t know,” I whispered.

  “Test the waters and find out. Unless you’re chicken.”

  “I wish you hadn’t done it.”

  “I knew it. Too scared.”

  “I’m scared for you, idiot.”

  He gave me an appraising look. “Keep telling yourself that. But it would go easier if you just admit it.”

  “Admit what?”

  He pointed at himself. “All this is too much for you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re right. That’s totally it. I’ve beheld your godly manliness and now I’m overcome with womanly trepidation. Get over yourself.”

  “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll go easy on you.”

  Screw it. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him. He tasted of coffee and Curran. I caught his lip between my teeth, nipped, and licked him. He opened his mouth and I slipped my tongue in, teasing him. He picked me up, his hands squeezing my butt, and kissed me back, tasting my mouth. My tongue flicked across his. My breasts ached. My body was aware that I was empty, and I needed to be full of him.

  “Playing with fire,” he told me, setting me on the kitchen table.

  “No, just pulling a lion by his whiskers.” I kissed the sensitive skin under the corner of his jaw. He made a deep male noise. We kissed again. The world went hot and focused. I pulled his T-shirt off and ran my hands over the ridges of his stomach, over the hard muscles of his chest, over tight nipples, kissing him, eager and hot and wanting. />
  He pulled off my T-shirt. His hand slipped into my bra, easing my breast out, his thumb sliding over the sensitive bud of nipple. I gasped and kissed him harder. He was on fire, and if I just kissed him hard enough, I’d coax it out of him.

  He worked the bra off me and lifted me up. His mouth found my right breast, sucked, his tongue painting heat and texture across my nipple, and a jolt of pleasure made me moan. I wrapped my legs around him. He carried me to the living room. My feet touched the soft rug. I was hot and wet and in a terrible hurry. He was kissing me, touching me, squeezing, stroking. He couldn’t get enough. I worked his jeans open and pulled his shaft out, running my hand up and down the hardness wrapped in silken skin. He groaned and squeezed me to him. His eyes had gone gold. His upper lip rose, baring his teeth.

  I tripped him. It was a classic move, simple and effective. He was off balance, because he wanted another go at my breasts. For a moment his weight was on his right leg, and I swept it out from under him. He could’ve fought me on the way down, but instead he just fell. I pulled off my jeans and my underwear, yanked his off him, and landed on him.

  He grinned at me and there was no man more handsome on Earth. “Your move, ass kicker.”

  He was still him. Still my Curran. Still enough left.

  I kissed him and slipped his hard shaft inside me. It felt like heaven. He growled and thrust up. I rode him, matching his thrusts with mine, feeling every inch of him fill me, sliding into my hot slickness. His hands roamed my breasts, slipped over my stomach, and touched the sensitive spot between my legs. I cried out. He snarled in response.

  I rode him faster and faster, lost to the rhythm, until the pressure that had built inside me crested and drowned me in ecstasy. And then he was behind me, thrusting hard, and then I was on top again, then we were face-to-face, slowing the pace. Savoring each minute. Every moment was a gift. I loved it all: the taste, the scent, the touch, the way he looked at me, the gold sparks in his eyes, the touch of his hands on my skin, the way his whole body tensed when he thrust into me . . . I came again, and then his body shuddered, and he finished. We collapsed side by side on the rug.

  My head was spinning. Sweat cooled slowly on my body. I was so happy. Exhausted and happy. Soft comfortable darkness came.

  “Kate,” he said. “We can’t fall asleep here. Come on, baby.”

  Somehow we made it upstairs into the bed. He wrapped his arms around me, and I drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER

  15

  I KNEW MY aunt had recovered, because she exploded into our bedroom and roared, “The child is missing!”

  I sat bolt upright on the bed. Curran groaned. I realized I was naked and pulled a blanket over my chest.

  “Knocking,” I told her. “Privacy.”

  She glared at us. “This is no time to have sex! Your son is missing! I can’t feel him.”

  Kill me, somebody. “He isn’t missing. He’s across the street with his grandmother. You can’t feel him because I strengthened the ward on George’s house to mask his presence.”

  She squinted at me. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I went there to check on him late last night and I saw him sleeping. Grendel is with him. There are enough werebears in that house to hold off an army.”

  Erra considered it. “Very well. Also, your father’s attack dog, what’s his name? Hugh. Hugh and some blond woman are in a car in your driveway, talking.”

  She turned and swept down the hallway, right past the remnants of the door she’d broken.

  I turned over and bumped my head on Curran’s chest a few times. “Why me?”

  “I don’t know.” He stroked my back. “I suppose we need to get dressed.”

  “Ugh.”

  “If I have to murder Hugh, I don’t want to do it naked,” he said. “It would be weird.”

  “If you change into warrior form, you will be naked.”

  “That’s different.”

  I got myself dressed, forced myself to brush my teeth, and then I made myself go downstairs, open the door, and walk down the driveway to a blue SUV and knock on the window.

  Elara rolled the window down. Hugh looked at me from the driver’s seat.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “We’re having a private argument,” Hugh said. “Do you mind?”

  I pictured myself reaching past Elara and punching him in the jaw. Nope, didn’t have the reach.

  “In my driveway?”

  “Yes.”

  A little smile tugged at Elara’s lips.

  “Well, when you’re done with your argument, you’re welcome to come in for some breakfast.”

  “Thank you,” Elara said.

  Hugh reached over her and rolled the window up.

  I’d just invited Hugh d’Ambray for breakfast. The world was going crazy. Nothing left to do but hold on and yell “Wheee!” at strategic moments.

  I went back to the house. I should’ve punched him in the face while he was rolling the window up. Shoot.

  Curran descended the stairs. “What do they want?”

  “They’re having a private argument. I invited them to breakfast.”

  He shrugged in a fatalistic way.

  I went in the kitchen and checked the plate with smoked meat. It was still there. It was good that Grendel wasn’t here, or he would’ve cleaned the dishes for us overnight. He was considerate like that.

  I took eggs out of the refrigerator.

  “What made you change your mind?” Curran asked, setting a pan on the stove.

  “About Hugh?”

  “Yes.”

  I cracked some eggs into a bowl, added a spoon of sugar, and whipped them into froth. “Christopher thinks that my father used the blood bond to impose his will on Hugh.”

  “I agree,” Curran said.

  “Why?”

  “Because your father is a control freak, and he doesn’t like leaving things to chance. If it can be done, he would’ve done it. I still want to kill Hugh.”

  “I know. Christopher forgave Hugh because he believes that if he can’t forgive Hugh, he himself can’t be forgiven.” I added milk to the mixture, and then flour.

  “So you forgave him for Christopher?” Curran lifted the pan to roll a piece of smoked fat all around it.

  “No. I haven’t forgiven him anything, and if I do, it won’t be for Christopher. It will be for me. I don’t want to drag the weight around. But for now, I want to know why he is here. There has to be a reason and it’s not trade agreements for herb sales.”

  “Do I have to forgive him?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Oh good. Because I was worried there for a second.”

  I rolled my eyes at him.

  Someone knocked on the front door.

  “It’s open!” I called. I’d left it unlocked and opened the ward, too. I knew Hugh was human. Regular wards wouldn’t stop him, and he’d broken my blood ward once, which took him out of commission for a few minutes. But Elara was another story. Something about her didn’t feel quite right.

  Hugh opened the door and held it for his wife. She walked in and entered the kitchen. Another dress, this one a pale lavender. Her hair, braided and pinned on her head, was so light, it almost seemed to glow. There was something slightly regal about Elara. Something magic too, but she kept it hidden deep inside, and if I tried to pry, she’d feel it. What the heck was she?

  Hugh leaned against the wall, big, dark, the happy-to-kill-you psychopath I remembered. I handed him a stack of plates. “Make yourself useful.”

  He winked at me.

  I swiped a knife off the island and threw it. It sprouted from the wall an inch from his nose. “You’ll need cutlery,” I told him. “Second drawer on your right.”

  “Here, I’ll help.” Elara pulled the drawer open and bega
n extracting forks and knives.

  A few minutes later the four of us sat around the breakfast table, with a plate full of golden round pancakes and a platter of smoked meat between us, and fried eggs divvied up on our plates. We drank coffee. Elara drank tea.

  We began eating.

  “Anything you want to know?” Hugh asked.

  “How good are Neig’s human fighters?” Curran asked.

  Hugh grimaced. “Good. There is a handful of Iron Dogs who can take them one-on-one, but we’ve had the most success with a small combat team approach.”

  “You jump them three or four at a time?” Curran asked.

  “Yep. The armor is a problem. It’s a strong alloy, and we’ve had a devil of a time cutting them out of it.”

  “Is it crushable?”

  “You or a werebear, maybe,” Hugh said. “For a human, it takes a mace. Unfortunately, they’re lively in that armor.”

  “What about the yeddimur?” Curran asked.

  “The beasts?” Elara asked. “Each soldier can control up to five. They’re not slaves, they are doglike. Very cruel. They feed on what they kill.”

  “Are they contagious?” Curran asked.

  She frowned. “Not that we’ve noticed, and we’ve had very close contact.”

  A whisper of magic escaped her and fluttered past me, ghostly and cold. I cut a small piece of my egg and speared it with a fork. She was something, all right.

  “What about this army?” Curran asked. “Any idea how large it is?”

  Hugh shook his head. “We fought his vanguard, maybe three hundred men and about a thousand beasts. I can tell you that they went through Nez’s forces like a knife through butter.”

  Wait, what?

  “Landon Nez?” Curran asked. “The Legatus of the Golden Legion? How did they get involved?”

  “They were besieging us at the time,” Elara said.

  “Did Nez die?” my husband asked.

  “No,” Hugh said, and his face told me exactly how happy he was about it. “But the Legion had to withdraw.”

  “We need to figure out what Neig’s got.” Curran drummed his fingers on the table.